Ruma Chakravarti

Unknown | 5/09/2014 |

A bleak winter day of half light,
lonely night broken into shards of dawn.
Under the same vast blue sky
we are separated by much in between.
I can touch you in dreams alone,
there lies my only solace.

Walking in the winter sun
pale almond scented petals blowing in the air.
The wind gives them wings,
to land upon my hair.

Down at the beach,
Looking at light clouds skittering in
From the Coorong.
You slip your hands into my pockets,
as I watch a seagull skim the water.
When you come here and then go,
 like feather tip slicing smooth oily water,
I take days to heal over.
The gifts you will leave
like Trojan horses;
without them there at least
might have been moments of forgetting.

Down at the beach, on the long spit
where the little creek marries the wide sea,
and seaweed dries high on the shoreline,
Clumps of grey green grass
hide little lemon yellow butterflies.

As I walk on the sand on bare feet,
They rise in pale clouds like meringues,
Or windblown confetti at a wedding.
The bushes on the other hand,
Go into a hushed huddle;
Every cricket holds its tongue.

As I pass, I look back and hear
Life start to return to them.
While nearer the ground,
Things get quietly back to normal.
I am just a memory to them.

I sit in the dying light of the evening
and pick at a scab of thought.
That is something I am getting
good at.

I sit quiet in the October sun
as orange stemmed flowers fall about me.
A quiet afternoon in autumn,
the garden around me silent at rest.
A crow's sudden call startles the flowers,
now there is only its cawing to fill my hours

Last night's winds
broke each flower off.
Today the grass, a sky with a hundred suns.

In the grey June rain.
The cold seems to slow down the air
And make time stand still.

Sheets feel cold to the touch
A blanket for the senses
How do I warm my mind?

The water ripples
As the lazy wind picks up a tune
And moves languidly.
The golden fish look on
Always truly surprised.


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